


Carry On Wayward Son, For Winter Is Coming

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Supernatural
Genre: And I LOVE Tyrion Lannister and LOATHE Jaime Lannister, And since A Song of Ice and Fire is just as soul-destroying and heart-crushing as Supernatural, Dean Winchester of course!, Dean speaks in a more modern fashion than do the other characters, Gen, I couldn't take away his blunt vernacular; if I did he wouldn't be Dean, I have gotten obsessed with A Game Of Thrones because I'm reading it right now, I simply had to put them together, So who could be awesome enough to hold his own with the first and improve the second?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 04:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5276360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ser Dean of Winchester, once page and squire to Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, has returned to King's Landing for the Hand's Tourney that Eddard Stark DID NOT want. The newly-made knight's entrance causes a stir when he is pitted against his old master for a joust.</p><p>He and his own squire make some interesting and surprising friendships while in King's Landing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The tourney welcomes Ser Dean—ex-pageboy—Winchester. “If I ever was to bet against my family,” intoned Tyrion Lannister, “it would be because of that young rapscallion there.”

Ser Dean comes (back) to King’s Landing for the Hand’s Tourney and jousts against Jaime Lannister—who he used to serve as a page and then a squire, and now he is here as a knight in his own right. He even has his own squire—his younger brother, Sam.

Dean unhorses Jaime and the two men fight with swords; equally matched until Dean hits the Kingslayer in the face with a gauntlet and his old master recognizes him and flips the new knight onto his back in the turf. “Easy, lion,” Dean says, laughing.

“You are not a tamer yet,” pants Jaime agreeably. “Though you did surprise me, and have gotten points for yourself. Take off your helmet, good ser.” The crowd at large holds its breath, unsure whether they are about to witness an even bloodier fight—but Dean simply grins and complies. He winks one dancing green eye at the Lannister knight and then they grip each other’s arms and pull one another in for a hard hug. Jaime is the first to pull away and looks his erstwhile page and squire up and down. “Soil my britches, Winchester, but you got old!”

“I could say the same thing about you, Lannister—even more since you are the elder. You’ve been talking to your brother way too much if you’re contemplating soiling your britches, my friend. How is the Imp, anyway?”

“Still enlarging his mind, as well as the appetites of all the whores within 50 miles of the Landing.”

“That’s my boy!” Dean crows and has to grin. “I can’t wait for my brother to meet yours. They will have a lot of nerdy shit to talk about.” The knights exit the jousting arena and head to the cheap seats where Tyrion always places his bets.

“And YOU will speak to him now.” Says the Kingslayer. Ser Dean shakes a reproving finger.

“Ah-ah, don’t try to distract me, Jaime Lannister. I want a rematch with you later.” As the two men pass in front of the king’s and queen’s seats, Dean bows to Robert Baratheon and kisses the hand of Cersei nee Lannister, flirting coldly with her to keep her out-of-balance with her twin brother. “Tyrion!” Ser Dean bellows as he reaches the tiered seats. “It’s damn good to see you, my friend. Damn good.” He grabs the dwarf in a swinging swooping hug. They had bonded over their ridiculous fathers and loving brothers; Tyrion loves Jaime and would do much for him; same goes for Sam and Dean. Tyrion grunts and pounds the young knight upon his chain-mailed back.

“You nearly got me to bet against my own brother,” the little man growls in Dean’s ear. “How dare you be that quick with a sword?”

“A sword’s not all I’m quick with, old friend,” Dean answers. “And from the stories I hear, YOU’RE quick with other things too.”

“Ah, I’ve missed you, Dean,” the dwarf smirks as the knight sets him back down.

“Buy you a beer after I get out of this armor,” the knight promises. To Jaime, he adds: “Knowing what he’s in for, I don’t envy your squire right now.”

“And I pity yours too,” returns the Kingslayer.  


***  


_Well, my squire loves me despite my issues, _Dean says to himself. _He has to; I’m his big brother. _Though Jaime’s last squire had loved his master, the knight reflects while bidding his friend farewell. Only three years Jaime’s junior, Dean had idolized the Lannister brother, so carefree and golden and skilled in the manly art of warmaking—(and lovemaking as well, if truth be told). Dean finds himself blushing uncomfortably as he remembers some pointers he was given by the older boy—Dean who had been sent out to become a man on behalf of his father’s steward. Robert Singer was a gruff yet kindly man, more of a true father to Dean than Lord John of Winchester had ever been. It was Bobby who was the first to recognize Dean’s love for wielding a sword, as well as his talent for swinging one. He had made a point to Lord John and then arrangements with Tywin Lannister—Jaime, Cersei, and Tyrion’s father—so Dean could be his eldest son’s page and then his squire. It was hard for Dean to leave Sammy, though his younger brother was super excited for him:____

_____ _

_____ _

“You’ll be learning from a KNIGHT, Dean! That’s so cool—it’ll be just like the songs!” To which Dean had cuffed his brother ‘round the head and affectionately called him a nerd. Sam shoved Dean away and shook his head reprovingly at his big brother before smoothing down his shaggy hair and getting a sardonic wolf-whistle because of it. Sam made a face and then grew somber for a moment. “I’m gonna miss you, you know.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Come on, Sammy. No chick-flick moments. We decided this.” Sam clenches his fists and glares.

“I know YOU decided it, Dean, but I mean it—I WILL miss you! And you’re just gonna have to deal with it!” The redness of his face and tears in his eyes make Dean smile a trifle sadly.

“All right, all right. Bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam replied automatically. Thinking about that exchange now, Dean chuckles quietly. Ever since they were little, he and his brother had lived life on their own, with naught but words, stories, and games to consistently entertain them.

***

After the death of their mother, Lord John had ceased being the boys' father. The moment his wife was buried beside the godswood, he became his land’s lord and nothing else, leaving four-year-old Dean and baby Sam in the (albeit extremely capable) hands of his steward, the aforementioned Robert Singer. Robert could not take care of the boys ALL the time, however; he had his own duties. So Dean had learned to care for his brother on his own. He bathed him (when Sam was too little to do it himself), clothed him, entertained him, and taught him as much as he could. He did so well that Sam was nearly six years old before their father decided to hire a tutor for the two boys.

“Dean needs a diff’rent teacher, m’lord,” Bobby Singer had protested. “He is older and needs to know more ‘bout how to help run a household.” To which John had whirled, face dark as a thundercloud.

“What is this?? You think I cannot run my OWN household?! Is that what you are implying, Singer? I am capable!”

“Of course you are,” Bobby had mumbled into his beard. “ _Too _damn capable; you barely even speak to your sons.” John glared daggers and then threw one, slicing it so close to Bobby that he swore later to Dean that he lost some hair from his nose. Bobby stepped back and said “I will make the arrangements as you wish, my lord.” Sam, who was sitting in a chair slightly behind Bobby, watched the scene with wide eyes. He swore he heard the steward huff out “Idjit,” after he’d bowed. Dean said he must've imagined it; even BOBBY wouldn't call their father something as disrespectful as that. Would he?__

__

__Thinking about it now, Dean smirks and shakes his head. Sure he would. Good ol' Bobby was always looking out for them as if they were his own. "Family don't end with blood, boy," he'd said to Dean on the day the Lannisters had taken him to the Landing. "You find your family and you hold on to it, Dean. That's what I've done with your brother and you. Keep loyal and honest and you'll do all right at the Landing. And get better with that sword, all right? Don't want you comin' back here with fingers missing...or someone tellin' me another page got dismembered." Dean had looked at his friend, affronted, but Bobby's eyes just twinkled and a smile hid behind his beard. They hugged tightly and then Dean went over to his ten-year-old brother. Sam was blinking rapidly and flaring his nostrils. Trying not to cry, Dean thought affectionately. What a sap._ _

__

__"Hey, Sammy. Try not to give Bobby TOO much hell while I'm gone, okay?" Sam snorted and swiped a hand across his face._ _

__

__"Don't worry, Dean. Raising hell is YOUR job." He gives his brother a bitch-face, the scowl that is Sam Winchester's property alone, and Dean laughed aloud. After a minute, Sam began laughing too._ _

__

__"Damn straight. I always knew you were smart, little brother." Dean pulled him into a hug and stroked his hair. "I'll miss you too, all right? You know that." Sam snorted._ _

__

__"Yeah, since you call me a nerd all the time. How would I know? You're always saying 'no chick-flick moments'." He stared disapprovingly at Dean. No idea why his brother calls theatrical productions ‘flicks’. It didn’t make sense when he was younger and still doesn’t now._ _

__

__Sam glowered until the elder blurted, "I say it with love, man!" The younger Winchester settled his shoulders and pressed his lips together. He's got this—the perfect way to get back at Dean._ _

__

__"Yeah, I know.” He pressed his lips together and smirked. “I also know that you're an emotionally constipated martial man." Dean pulled away and stared at his brother, insulted and a bit befuddled._ _

__

__"Where the hell did you get that idea from, Sam?" Sam shrugged._ _

__

__"From the library. Bobby gave me a spare key and showed me how to get in. Septa Bela's gonna be so impressed when she comes back next week and sees how good I'm reading. That's okay, isn't it?" He looked so worried, as if he he was sure that he was breaking a rule._ _

__

__Dean sighed with exasperation. "This is OUR house, Sam. Our house. So makes it yours too. Of course it's okay for you to go in the library! I'm surprised it took you so damn long." Sam looked miffed._ _

__

__"Well you can bet your butt that I'm gonna make up for lost time!"_ _

__

__"I didn't expect anythin’ else." Dean rolled his eyes. "Just make sure you eat enough, all right? I don't want to come back to hear you starved to death while reading books." Sam laughed._ _

__

__"Don't WORRY, Dean. Gods, you're always nagging. I'm glad you're going to King's Landing." Dean punched him affectionately._ _

__

__"All right, all RIGHT! Study hard, little brother. I'll be back to make you MY squire!" He had left then, leaping onto his horse and giving the mare her head as Sam gaped after him in astonishment._ _


	2. Chapter 2

Dean reaches his tournament tent now and brushes down his horse before going inside. He had learned that in order to be a good man and a good knight, a man must have a care for how he treats his inferiors. For one day they could become his equals. And no one is more equal to Dean than the horse that carries him through the lists in the joust. She is a beautiful Friesian horse, dark as jet, silent as midnight, and as strong as the obsidian stone. He calls her Baby and dotes on her. Sam often jokes as he leads the horse that he should just take the two of them to a brothel so they can get a room and everything out of the way. To which Dean always replies, “You shut your mouth!” and to the horse, “Don’t worry, Baby, he just doesn’t understand us.”

“You’re darn right I don’t,” Sam grumbles good-naturedly. There isn’t anything bad about his nature. He may get kinda broody, but there’s always some way to snap him out of it. Usually research. Actually, always research. Yeah, Dean REALLY needs to introduce him to Tyrion. He ducks under the tent flap and searches for Sammy. His brother is in the back on a bench reading a book. Of course. Dean clears his throat, and when nothing happens, he drops his helmet and rattles his chainmail. Sam jumps and flings his book to the ground in surprise. He calms down when he stands up and gets a good look at his older brother.

"Oh! Dean, it's you. Did you fight him? How was it? You're hurt, man! What happened?" Dean's eyebrows shoot up as his brother comes over with a rag that he dips in a goblet of cold...is that wine? It burns slightly as it touches his face around his right eye. "It's bruised and swollen." Sam says clinically. "Did Jaime not remember who you were, then?" Dean guffawed.

"Oh no, he remembered. I hit him in the face with my gauntlet still on. He knew I always played that trick and so he flipped me onto the ground...his elbow must've caught me in the eye." He winces as Sam continues his ministrations. "Ow! Damn, your nursing skills suck, Sam." Sam glares.

"You better be nice to me; I told the king some good things about you." Dean freezes in shock.

"The king was HERE?" He looks around foolishly as if he expects Robert Baratheon to be sitting slumped in the shadows, drinking. But no. Sam rolls his eyes at Dean's antics.

"No, his Hand was. The man from the north. Eddard Stark." Dean's eyes harden. He knows a LOT about that name from Jaime. Having that man come and speak with Sammy...it bodes ill. It's also creepy.

"What did Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell and the Hand of His Highness the King want?" Dean is acerbic. Sam stares at him.

"Ned's not that bad, Dean! He's just a regular person. Really modest, though. He said he didn't want to hold this tournament. He just wants to do the work for the honour of it without any undue pomp and circumstance." Dean finds himself feeling impressed by that. Then he realizes what his brother said.

"Wait. Did you just call him...Ned?"

"Well, yeah. He told me to. He said all of his friends call him that. And he wanted to welcome you, a new knight, to the Landing."

"So he doesn't know I was here before? That I was Jaime's squire?" Sam's brow furrows and his hair swings forward as he bows his head and thinks for a moment.

"No, I don't think so."

"Well, good. Because I've gotta figure out where I stand here, Sam. The world is different now. Powers shift. I feel it. The fact that Eddard—excuse me, Ned—is even here is strange. I have always heard he adores the northern holdfast over which he rules." He brushes his hand over his neck and across his face. "But whatever. Sam, are you going to perform the rest of your squire-ly duties or am I gonna have to pick up my sword and kick your ass?" Sam hasn't even unlaced Dean's canvas outer tunic yet. He jumps again and immediately begins to do so. "Hey," Dean adds as he flexes his shoulders after Sam takes off the pads. "I'm going to get a beer with Tyrion Lannister, and I want him to meet you. Whaddaya say?"

"Tyrion Lannister—that's the Imp, right? People call him that?"

"Yes, most of the kingdom calls him that. His FRIENDS call him Tyrion." Sam nods solemnly and removes his brother's mail shirt and then his arm bracers and leg greaves. Dean's inner clothes are drenched, which Sam expected. He tosses new clothes to his brother and Dean, never one for false modesty, pulls his old shirt off and new one on in full view of the still-open doorway. So of course, the two young girls giggling as they pass the tent see him. One stops, gasps, and covers her reddening face. The other, a pale girl with nice warm auburn curls, looks slightly unbalanced, but simply nods and curtsies to him.

"Good day, gallant ser," she says quietly. Dean nods back to her and situates his tunic over his broad shoulders. Then he strides over to the door and puts his hands on either edge of the flaps. The second girl lets out a yelp and Dean winks at her. He can't help it. Sam is rolling his eyes in the background as the knight brings the auburn-haired girl's hand to his lips.

"I thank you. May I ask the name of such a pretty girl who comes to watch the lists?" She really blushes now, and lowers her light blue eyes demurely for a moment before looking back up into his bright apple-green ones.

"My name is Sansa."

"Sansa," Dean lets his lips linger over the name. "It's a beautiful name, slips right off the tongue. Just like..." he is about to add an unsavory word or two, but Sam clears his throat urgently and Dean remembers where he is and that these girls aren't like those he is used to. Besides, they look very young. "...Like your courtesies must. That was a nice thing you said. Did you see me joust?"

"Yes, I did. You were very good."

"Good? Ha! I fell off my horse in less than 2 minutes."

"Yes," Sansa agrees, her eyes shining, "But you kept up and did so well at sword-fighting. You did not disgrace yourself by refusing to fight once you fell. And you managed also to unhorse Jaime Lannister! That is quite a feat."

"Well, sword fighting is my specialty," Dean slowly smiles at her. "And I know Jaime Lannister's fighting style."

"Ooh, really? Did you hear that, Jeyne? The Kingslayer has a special style and this knight knows what it is! Would you tell us, please, ser?" Dean looks from one to the other; Jeyne has finally lowered her hands from her face but can still hardly look at him.

Dean smiles at her and then turns and jerks his head at Sammy, muttering, "Come talk to her because she still won't look right at me, dude. I think she's shell-shocked." Sam comes forward. "This is my squire, Sam." Ser Dean introduces him. Sansa tries to curtsy to him, but Sam, bless him, doesn't know court etiquette quite yet, and so he takes her hand in an enthusiastic shake. He does the same with Jeyne. Sansa seems scandalized, hilariously, but Jeyne lights up and begins talking to Sam about the lists they'd just left, and how the Knight of Flowers was so handsome (Sansa thought) and Ser Beric was (she thought)

"Though not as handsome as you, um..." blushing; and if he had heard lots of shouting and noise, that was because the Kingslayer was beaten by the Knight of Flowers. Sam whistled.

"Sorry I missed it! Being a squire is hard work. Especially if the knight is your elder brother; he never stops messing with me and pushing me around." Jeyne is shocked at this until Sam assures her that he doesn't mind, he loves his brother, and he has never before been to court—"I hear there is a fantastic library!" Jeyne says, yes there is, she thinks. She hasn't really been in there much. She mostly stays with Sansa, doing embroidery or gossiping—

"Oh gods, that's terrible. I shouldn't've said it. Sansa will kill me. Please don't tell!" They go to meetings with Lord Stark sometimes. "He's very stern at the meetings. But he's fair and good and when he talks, everyone else in the room listens." 

"I met him earlier today," Sam says. "He seems like a very good man."

"Oh yes, he is; good, noble, and honourable." Jeyne's reply is fervent and admiring. Sam glances over at Dean, wanting to share this bit of information with him, but his brother is bowing to Sansa Stark and already yearns to meet the Imp for a bite and a drink; the younger Winchester can tell.


	3. Chapter 3

The brothers Winchester will meet up with Tyrion at the Mermaid Tavern down by the riverfront. Dean knows this as sure as he knows that he shouldn’t ride Baby into such a seedy part of town, but he does it anyway. His brother makes several comments (and bitch-faces) regarding this, but the knight doesn’t listen. He’s gotta show off his rank and his horse and himself. If he didn’t, he just wouldn’t be Dean.

When they enter the tavern it’s like they are coming into a street market or charnal house. A cacophony of sounds and strong scents thicken the air and are slightly unpleasant at first. Men and women whirl round the place to the music of trenchers thudding onto tables and the tangs of ale and suckling pig wafting off of those tables and out of the kitchen.

Sam peers over the heads of the patrons, searching for…well, what exactly, he doesn’t quite know—he’s only heard of Tyrion Lannister by reputation, not sight. He starts looking for the Lannisters’ signature colors of scarlet and gold, but Dean shakes his head and chuckles.

“Don’t bother looking for pomp and circumstance, Sammy. Just go to the loudest part of and biggest crowd in the room.” He leads the way over near the fire and a rowdy crowd of men—at the center of which sits Tyrion Lannister. He seems to be telling some sort of bawdy tale; and from the looks on the people’s faces around him, most are amused by the fact that this stunted little freak could tell such a story. It must not have happened to him; but he’s perfect for a motley coat—it should be his only suit.

Sam sees all of this in their faces, and he feels sorry for this man who has a gift for oratory pursuits, but is only heeded because of the difference between the way he looks and the words that he says. Dean also recognizes this, and his eyes have gone hard and his jaw jumps as he grits his teeth. He knows this man, how intelligent and shrewd he is; how much he sees and comprehends. Tyrion knows how his listeners view him, but he finds a way to revel in it. Ser Dean could not do something like that—he knows it; he has known it since Bobby initially mentioned his becoming a knight. Dean knew that he would never be taken seriously simply as the elder son of a lord bound by single-minded vengeance for his wife’s death. And he could not be content with that. Sam is different; he is of the mind that he can learn how to be his own man, greater simply as a result of the extent of his knowledge…but Dean needs nobility, he needs the pomp and circumstance of magnificent, nefarious deeds—like Jaime has—but the younger knight would be content if his deeds were only magnificent and not nefarious.

“Well, well, well if it isn’t Ser Dean Winchester,” comes Tyrion’s voice. He has just spotted them. “Excuse me, masters, but I must greet this man.” He stands and settles his shoulders, ready to waddle over to Dean, ready for these men to see him as being even more ridiculous than he already appears. But the knight doesn’t force him to do this; Dean strides quickly past the gawkers and clasps the Imp by the shoulder.

“Hey Tyrion, buddy, you ready to get drunk and ditch these asshats?” Dean glares stonily around at all of the men, letting them know that he’s aware of why they are listening to Tyrion. Some glare back while others have the good grace to look embarrassed before they slowly disperse. Tyrion flashes an almost wolfish grin.

“It seems, Dean, as if THEY are ditching US.” Ser Dean shrugs.

“Same difference. Oh, damn,” he sees Sam standing back, and realizes his brother is more than slightly uncomfortable. “Tyrion, may I introduce my little brother, Sam. I wanted him to meet you. Sammy, this is Tyrion Lannister.” Sam steps closer and holds out his hand to shake the Imp’s. Tyrion squints at him and looks him up and down, snorting.

“If he’s your LITTLE brother, then I’M a giant of a man!” the Imp chuckles and reaches over to shake Sam’s proffered hand. “And why would you want him to meet me?” Tyrion adds to his friend. “I’m certainly not as dashing as Jaime or beautiful as my sweet sister Cersei.” He takes a date from the bowl of fruit on the table and tosses it up to catch in his mouth. He regards the brothers with his mismatched eyes squinted slightly, calculating. Sam clears his throat and jerks his head at Dean, like, why don’t you take this one? He’s YOUR friend, man. Why DID you want me to meet him? But Dean just raises his eyebrows and shakes his head slightly. The ball’s in your court now, Sammy. You might wanna at least TRY to hit it. Sam blows air out of his nose in almost a sigh before clearing his throat and speaking.

“So, um, it’s like this, Tyrion. Dean’s told me about you and he thinks we have a lot in common.” Tyrion’s eyebrow shoots up.

“Oh, really? Does your father hate the sight of you and think of you as a freak, too?” Tyrion expects the boy to look down or away, like other people always did when he posed this question (or something like it) to them. But Sam Winchester is not like other people. He stares into Tyrion’s eyes seriously.

“Yes.” Sam says simply. “Dad’s hated the sight of me since I was born, practically. He doesn’t deal well with either of us. Too focused on his own things.” Sam clenches his fists furiously. “He’s so selfish! But that’s not the only reason—he thinks I’m a freak because I can…do things.”

“What kinds of things? Can you take food from the top shelf of the larder? Because believe me, that is a freakish feat wonderful to accomplish." He winks and grins over at Dean. "Or it would be for me.”

“It—it started when I was twelve. Going on thirteen. Dean wasn’t at home then, he was your brother’s squire, so he doesn’t know a lot about it…” Sam sucks in a shaky breath, refusing to look directly at his brother. Telling this truth is hard for him. Dean has leaned forward, his green eyes dark with fearful concern. "When I'm angry, or afraid, or really really concentrating, I can move things. With my mind." After this revelation, Tyrion doesn’t say anything for a bit. Then he grunts and whistles, loud enough to make both Sam and Dean jump.

“For this type of conversation about myths and magic, I’m gonna need a drink.”

“Buddy, I am right there with you,” Dean says slowly, his eyes never straying from Sam. A buxom serving wench brings two tankards. Sam waves her away when she offers to bring him one. He does, however, take a clementine from the fruit bowl in the center of their table.

***

After Dean and Tyrion have both had several rounds of drinks, Sam has allowed himself to loosen up a little. He and Tyrion wax poetical about the stories and history of Westeros. Dean rolls his eyes and tells them,

"Oh, get a room, you two!" Tyrion grins in a wickedly flirty manner and Sam gives his brother a bitch-face of the highest caliber, which only causes Dean to chuckle. But before the night is over, the Imp slurs to the younger Winchester,

"If you still would like t' get a room—"

"Uh, no thanks, Tyrion," Sam looks panicky at Dean who has started laughing so hard he nearly falls down. "Th-thanks for the offer, but that's not really my cup of tea." The Lannister raises his eyebrows until they disappear into his curly brown hair.

"You think I meant country matters, young Winchester?" He snorts. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm not of that breed; I MEANT if you would care to study with me in the castle library, I will be willing to accommodate you there." Sam's eyes widen and he honors Tyrion with a bright smile.

"You really mean it?! Thank you, Tyrion!" He pumps the dwarf's hand enthusiastically up and down. "Did you hear that, Dean?"

"I heard it," his brother said. "And if you had any common sense, Tyrion, you'd beat the hell out of here retracting your offer as you leave." Tyrion smirked.

"That is the point, Dean Winchester: I do not wish to have sense that is common, but spectacular. I think it is the same with your brother. Am I correct, Sammy?" Sam looks at the Imp a trifle sharply.

"You are, Lord of Lannister, but please don't call me Sammy. Only my brother gets to call me that." Tyrion humphs in...approval, perhaps? Was that some sort of test? Sam wonders. He wouldn't put it past the sly little man, even if he has not known him for very long.

"Understood, Sam. Ah, Dean," he grabs the elder Winchester's hand in a firm shake. "May we meet again tomorrow at the Tourney of the Hand. Gods save you both," he adds with a mocking wink and bow, "At least until my brother returns to the stand!"

***

“So, Sammy,” Dean says after Tyrion departs with a wink and a wave, “What do you think of that guy?” Sam grins.

“Well he’s certainly interesting. And super smart! I don’t think—even if I read all the books in the castle library—that I’ll be able to keep up.” Dean snorts amusedly and nods for the valet to bring Baby.

“I don’t think nerdiness is a contest, Sammy. Besides, you’ll always be the biggest nerd to me!” Sam shoves his brother and master in outrage. Ser Dean shoves his squire back playfully. By this time, a stableboy has brought them Baby. Dean strokes her nose and pats her flank before turning again to Sam. “All right. Hop on.” His brother gapes at him. “Get on the horse, Sammy, so we can go home.”

“We’re going to a tent, not home; and Dean, you KNOW I’m no good at riding horses!” Dean rolls his eyes.

“Well that’s why I’M here. I’ll be on the saddle in front of you.” Sam starts to protest that

“It’s not proper for a squire to ride on a horse WITH his knight, Dean.”

“Well, I’m NOT a knight right now—I’m just a guy who went out to drink with his little brother and a little friend. I’m done arguing with you. Get on the damn horse!” He gives Sam a boost and gets up in front of his brother. “C'mon, Baby, let’s ride!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice that I spell the word 'honor' differently; it is mentioned many times in this chapter in particular. I have done that on purpose. 
> 
> The word is written in the British fashion (honour, honoured, honourable, etc.) when characters from A Song of Ice and Fire are speaking or being spoken about.
> 
> It is written in the American way (honor, honored, honorable) when Sam and Dean are speaking or being spoken about. This is to differentiate them because the Winchesters are, in fact, American. From Kansas...practically dead-center of the U.S. of A...and (at least in my opinion) a lot of the characters and action in Westeros contains similarities to medieval English history. Sooo that's my long-winded way of saying that I made Martin's characters sound British and Kripke's characters sound hickish (haha just kidding) American. (I am also American and proud of it. Most of the time.) I'm a literature person as well, and for that reason I just find it funny. 
> 
> Please forgive my rambling, and now back to the story!

Dean is back in the lists for the melee competition the next day, and there is a lot of talk about the king himself taking part in it—apparently his wife had forbidden this, which sent him into a frothy rage. Knowing Cersei as well as he does, Dean is sure there are layers upon layers of reasoning behind her demand that King Robert not fight in the lists. Apparently the Hand is not pleased with this proposed course either, and has gone to give his king a stern talking-to. Dean would pay good money to be present during that conversation.

Jaime is being ruthless today...well, even MORE ruthless than usual; which makes Sam feel nervous enough to ask his brother if he REALLY wants a rematch with the knight of Lannister. Dean says of course he does, but admittedly has a few misgivings of his own. Especially after also seeing Ser Gregor Clegane, who is literally out for blood. This fact is evidenced by how few scruples he has about killing the young Ser Hugh and later (on the same afternoon!) trying to murder Ser Loras Tyrell—just because the knight had -fairly- beaten him. Luckily—or unluckily, depending on how you looked at things—Dean himself was to do battle with the young Knight of Flowers today.

Also unluckily, the crowd was solidly in the younger knight's favor, and an unruly crowd can change the tide of almost any fight. Luckily, however, Dean's personality is extremely charismatic and magnetic (or so he has always been told). So he should be able to hold his own and up the interest in this fight. When he reaches the melee arena, though, he discovers something that he had not bargained for—the fact that this young man with the bright eyes and earnest features, who is staunchly honorable in his deeds and so believes honor to be the common currency of every other knight in Westeros—Ser Loras is the same age as Sammy. And Dean will have to beat him by at least three hits in order to advance any farther in the melee.

***  


It’s stupid for Dean to be so against fighting this kid; because Sam is RIGHT BEHIND him holding his extra sword and prepared for whatever happens (hopefully). But he cannot help the instinctive reaction that shoots through his body like an icy arrow. Dean has no idea WHY the Knight of Flowers should remind him so strongly of Sam—especially since his brother himself is here, worried on Dean’s behalf because of how ruthless the contenders in this tourney have been.

But when Dean gets into the ring and takes his fighting stance, he becomes aware that this is not, in fact, Sammy; though his brother is willing to beat the hell out of Dean—or try to, at least—there is a length to which he will go, and no farther. This Tyrell knight wants to win and will gladly deal deadly hits onto Dean.

They bow to each other and are off to a quick, strong start. Dean is pressed along the edge of the circuit. This Tyrell kid is lethal, which gets Ser Dean’s head solidly in the right place to put on a strong show. Left, right, left—high and then low his sword slashes; Dean doesn’t use a shield because he keeps his eyes on the prize and both of his hands upon his sword so as to hit his opponents with harder blows. He does this now, browbeating the younger knight back and down. Neither has yet scored a palpable hit, but Dean has now pressed Ser Loras back into the wall. Desperate, yet staunchly striving to retain his family honour, Loras bows his head to Dean before ramming his helmet into the Winchester’s face like a battering ram. Dean hears a crunch and sees spots before his eyes. His helm has sliced into his own face and a sheet of blood gushes downward over his features. He swears furiously and rips the helm off of his head completely before blotting away some of the blood with his leather glove. The glove is growing saturated as he swipes his sword a few more times before calling for a halt. Dean can see the blurry outline of Sam slamming through the crowd in order to get to him.

“Dean—” his squire gasps. “Why didn’t you stop before?! Your head—”

“Head wounds bleed a lot, Sammy,” Dean spits out brusquely. “Just tie me up so I can get back out there and finish the fight.” Sam looks into his brother’s eyes, and the younger man’s mouth twitches in the smallest, saddest of smiles because he knows exactly who Dean is and that he will not stop this until the fight ends with his death, victory, or loss. So he makes a quick mud and herb paste and lashes a length of linen around the knight’s bloody forehead. 

The two men return to their bout and Ser Loras receives two hits from Dean before he gets another of his own, making the points even. The crowd has started to be less vocal against Dean—and in the Winchester’s mind that is almost as good as a win. Everyone watches with bated breath. Down to the wire this is, and in between the clash and clang of both men’s swords, one can almost FEEL the beating of their hearts. It is an upward thrust that finishes Dean, and sends him to his knees in exhaustion and recognition of defeat. But Ser Loras bids him stand up once again and puts a fist to his own chest in honor of Dean and of a fight well done. This earnest gallantry is what later saves his life. 

***  


The next bout in which Ser Loras fights is against Ser Gregor Clegane, and the mountainous knight is not in a gracious mood. Dean’s wound is being administered to by Sam and a maester when Jeyne Poole, friend to Sansa Stark, comes gasping to the entrance of their tent.

“Jeyne,” Sam sees her first and is immediately concerned. “What is it? What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

Almost in tears, the girl gasps out, “I’m fine, but please—Sam, Ser Dean—you must hurry. Ser Gregor is fighting Ser Loras and I think he means to kill him. Ser Gregor was fairly beaten but—he will not stop fighting!” Dean is up and has grabbed his sword straightaway and runs out the entrance after her.

“Let's go ‘Half a league, half a league, half a league onward’.” Sam raps out as he chases his brother.

Dean rolls his eyes and would probably crack a joke at his nerdy brother’s expense…if they had time. Which is not the case right now, as Dean can plainly see when he reaches the melee arena. The mountain-like Ser Gregor is charging and bellowing at young Loras madly—and there is indeed murder in his eyes. Dean does not stop to think for even a second—he is simply vaulting over the outer wall to intercept Clegane and protect the boy whose sense of honour is so strong that he bowed to Dean before hitting him. The Hound, Gregor’s brother, has this idea as well…or something like it, for he has now entered the ring to beat the big knight back. This gives Dean the chance to usher the shaken Tyrell teenager out of the way and sight of the homicidal knight.

“Whew, that was close! You all right, kid?” The Winchester knight asks after yanking Loras out of the arena and quickly making his way into the crowd. Loras Tyrell nods and bites his lip, looking rather shaken. He has a right to—hell, Dean would be seriously shaken up if he was in this kid’s shoes. He claps a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder and steers him into his tent. After they get inside, Dean offers the boy a goblet of wine, but Loras waves it off. Dean shrugs and gulps some down. The younger knight is pacing back and forth until Dean reaches out to hold him still by both shoulders. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you all right?”

“I-I am quite well, thanks to you, ser. Truly,” he continues as Dean shakes his head at the compliment. “I, Loras, third son of House Tyrell, am forever in your debt for saving my life, Ser Dean of House Winchester. If ever there is anything you might require, request it—and upon my honour, from my House it shall be yours.” Dean stares. That must have been some strong wine—that is the only reason he could think that this kid would swear loyalty and friendship to him. Dean isn’t the kind of guy who inspires such strong loyalty; he’s the guy who humiliated all of the other would-be knights in trials; he’s the eldest son who was never good enough for his father; the squire never ruthless enough for his knight. He is no one important, no one special—only his baby brother (he can’t help it; he will always view Sam that way), and now this kid—look at him as though he is. Ser Loras seems to be expecting an answer, so Dean clears his throat and pats the young man on the shoulder.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate that. I don’t know if there’s anything my family can do for you, but just call us and we’ll find a way to get there.” Ser Loras smiles and bows in acquiesce. Businesslike, Dean goes to the door of his tent and looks outside before turning back to the other knight. “We probably need to keep you away from that crazy bastard outside—so you can stay here as long as you need.”

“I thank you for this continued kindness, Ser Dean.”

“No problem, Ser Loras.”

***  


Dean and Sam have been treated to most of the backstory of Loras Tyrell’s illustrious family when a knock is heard at the entrance of the tent. Sam, performing one of his duties as a squire, goes to see who it is. He lets out an exclamation before collecting himself and saying, “Um, Dean, it’s—it’s the King’s Hand outside. Ned Stark. He, uh, asks permission to enter.” Dean is completely thrown by this, but collects himself quickly and nods assent to his brother. Ser Loras looks terrified. 

“Uh, yeah, let him in.” Dean settles his shoulders and clenches his jaw. He is trying to withhold judgement on Eddard Stark because of Sammy, but he was also the hands, eyes, and ears that assisted Jaime Lannister for three years—not to mention witnessing his master’s meetings with his twin sister. Dean would LOVE to forget everything he saw and heard during those rendezvous, but he can’t. So he stares coldly at the broad-shouldered bearded man who ducks through the tent flaps and stands solidly, seriously gazing at Dean, Sam, and Ser Loras. 

“Good day, Ser Dean of Winchester. I am Eddard Stark…”

“…Lord of Winterfell and the King’s Hand,” Dean continues, reaching out and grasping the man’s hand in a shake. “Yeah, I know who you are.” Eddard Stark nods and smiles slightly.

“Would this be because I have already had the pleasure of meeting your squire? And brother,” he adds as Sam moves to stand beside Dean. “Yes, now I see the family resemblance.”

“I am glad to see you well, Ser Loras,” Stark says now, going over and gripping the young man’s forearm. “My daughter Sansa was most distraught when she saw how Ser Gregor reacted to his loss. I am, too. He will not be permitted to perform such an act again. As long as I am the Hand of the King, Gregor Clegane will not be permitted to return to this city until he has proven that all of his battles will be fought honourably.” Ser Loras nods his head in respect for Ned Stark’s decision. The Hand steps a bit closer to him. “I am truly sorry for what Clegane did to you. His attempt upon your life was one of this tourney’s many wrongs.” Dean would be offended hearing this on behalf of all of the other, more honorable knights—if he hadn’t noticed the anguish that flashed across Ned’s face and realized there is something deeper that is painfully affecting this man.

“Lord Stark,” young Ser Loras says. “I would like to thank you for having this tourney, though you did not like it, for coming to King’s Landing has given me the chance to know more of you and thus be willing to offer my services to you, and to the Crown, if both are willing.” Man, this kid is racking up all the points for fealty! Dean smiles to himself before catching Sammy’s eye. ‘Are we going to offer him fealty too?’ Sam mouths. Dean shakes his head. He cannot do that just yet—never mind that the elegant language completely eludes him—but he doesn’t KNOW the man. He admires him, yes, but that isn’t the same as trusting him. Not like Sam does. But then, his brother always trusts people easily—anyone who shows consideration, kindness, or respect for him or Dean becomes part of Sam’s circle of trust, and it takes a hell of a lot to break it. There was that whole issue with Dean’s sellsword friend Benn, but the distrust from Sam many have occurred because of the way the sellsword became acquainted with his brother…but that’s another story. Best to get back to the present. Dean stares directly at Eddard Stark as the Hand appraises him after gratefully accepting the Knight of Flowers’ fealty. 

Crows’ feet around Ned’s eyes crinkle as he studies the Winchester, trying to figure him out. After a moment, looking from Loras to Dean: “Sers, I thank you for your service and welcome you to the city for however long you intend to stay. An open invitation to visit the Tower of the Hand stands—for both of you.” Ned then smiles fondly at Sam. “And you, lad, are also most welcome.” Sam bows, his eyes wide.

“Riding to the castle to visit the Hand of the King! Get this—it’s just like a book I’ve been reading!”

“Whoa, hold it right there, Sam,” cautions his older brother teasingly. “I doubt Lord Stark wants to hear all your nerdy comments.” Ned actually chuckles.

“I do not mind, Sam, don’t worry. I have a daughter whose head is chock-full of songs and stories. Sometimes she does not separate them from life.” He grows quiet. “My youngest daughter is incredibly solid and practical. So are my two elder sons. But not Sansa. It is my gift from the gods, I gather, to have children who have views that are so unlike my own that I simply must learn from them.” His eyes focus on Sam again. “How old are you, Sam?”

“Sixteen summers this past May,” Sam answers promptly.

“Ah. The same age as my eldest son. Slightly old to be a new squire.”

“He’s been going to school, my lord.” Dean replies to this comment rather sharply. He can’t help it—whenever someone is critical of or questions Sammy, he goes into full protective mama bear mode. “We have a trio of septas—Bela, Ruby, and Margarete—who teach him. And he studies all the time on his own. You’ll see him in the palace library soon enough. He’s going to become so much more than a knight…hell, might even become a grand maester.” Dean stops for breath and also because Sam is frantically making “shut up” gestures at him. Eddard Stark, however, does not appear offended by the knight’s outburst. He actually looks impressed. 

“Now I understand and have been properly corrected. I apologize for my uncouth assumptions.”

“Sure.” Dean looks a bit rueful. “I kind of freaked out.” Which is as much of an apology for flying off the handle as Ned Stark is likely to get. The lord of Winterfell recognizes this, and graciously accepts it.

“Now I am afraid I must go to make a grand speech and hand out the fighting awards.” Ned nearly snarls this. “I detest grandiose speechifying. It tests my patience to the limit. But it has to be done, and I must try to get through it. Ser Loras, as the winner of the melee, would you care to accompany me?”

“I would be honoured, Lord Stark.” Loras turns to Dean and Sam. “Thank you for your valuable assistance today, honoured brothers. I shall most certainly see you again.” Dean shakes Tyrell’s hand.

“Take care, kid. It’s a bad, mad world out there.” Loras nods before shaking hands with Sam as well. Eddard thanks the Winchesters for their hospitality and again invites them to the Tower. They accept his offer with a bow; and after he leaves, Sam sends Tyrion word that he would like to study with him in the library on the morrow, if that is convenient. The dwarf replies right away with his special brand of enthusiasm and tells Sam to wait for him outside the East Gate tomorrow morning.

With Sam’s whereabouts for the next three months accounted for, Dean decides to take the Hand up on his offer right away…on his way to visit Jaime and Cersei. He needs to get to know all of the players in this game—and where they stand—so that he is able to act accordingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you look carefully in this chapter, you will see an anachronism... Sam Winchester quotes "Charge of the Light Brigade" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. It seemed appropriate to the moment, and though I love learning about Westeros and its customs and people, I am firmly rooted in my own nerdy knowledge of literature and history as well. So I may have transferred some of my knowledge to Sammy. Sorry not sorry ;P


	5. Chapter 5

As Ser Dean rides Baby to the castle stables on the following day, he reflects upon the twists and turns of land and life and fate that led him here.  
...  
How his father and mother had lived too far north to be truly protected by the Night’s Watch—especially with its reduced numbers. Mary, Dean’s mother, had believed strongly in the existence of the Others. John had not believed, and this cost Mary her life on a frigid November night six months after her second son’s birth. 

A wight had come into the baby’s room and Mary took off her dressing gown and lit it aflame to stop the creature from eating Sam. She, oh brave woman, flung the flaming garment—and herself, clad only in a thin chemise—between the dead thing and her baby boy. John woke to hear his wife screaming and the baby crying. He ran into the room and grabbed Sam (there was no immediate way for him to help his wife, as she had practically lit herself on fire to engulf the abomination and protect her baby) before handing him to four-year-old Dean—who had also been awakened by the sound and fury.

“Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Now, Dean! Go!” John Winchester had ordered. Little Dean did what his father said without question. Their housemaid/cook/ advisor/stewardess, Missouri Moseley, wrapped Dean in a furred cloak and stood beside him outside as he cradled baby Sam and watched his childhood burn to the ground. John came out of the house stumbling and coughing at the last second before everything crashed and crumbled into dust and ashes.

John now believed in the Others, to his sorrow; and in order to keep the remainder of his family safe, he moved back south to his own ancestral holding close to Casterly Rock. His old steward was still there, and this gave John the incentive to let Missouri go, because she had been witness to too much sorrow and pain and he could not look at her without her eyes or words condemning his choices. John could not stand the fact that she was right in all that she thought and said; but Bobby Singer was much more tight-lipped, which gave John the wherewithal to leave his sons at home and be assured they were well cared-for whilst he began an endless mission of hatred and revenge against the Others. He went out hunting as one of a pair. The other man hunting with him was Willem of Harvelle, a brave and loving friend. He was also a husband and had his wife and a two-year-old daughter to protect. Though not a lord in his own right, Dane was the second son of a lord whose holding is southeast of John’s—and thus, he had ample resources to fight the Others with his friend.

Dean knows a little of this due to the fact that he used to help his father settle their accounts before becoming Jaime Lannister’s page and squire. But these are all the friends that his father has; the second son and the steward. Single-mindedly working to exterminate all supernatural entities from the realm makes John of Winchester a bit of an oddball in the eyes of many lords. Especially since, when John returned to his home, he took his father’s vacant position (having refused it to wed Mary, a woman whose own father had no fortune other than the bit he made from trading with the wild tribes of rovers in the North) as lord of Winchester Hall.

It is a result of John Winchester’s infamous reputation that helped Dean decide to become a knight and bring Sam with him to King’s Landing—he wishes to distance the two of them from the dubious legacy of their father.

***  


Early on that same morn, Sam waits for Tyrion Lannister outside the eastern gate of the castle, just as he promised. Tendrils of mist rise and curl around his feet and spread out over the surrounding city as he waits.

Sam feels relaxed here in King's Landing. Safer—to be himself and discover things in his own way. Whenever being taught by Bela, Meg, or Ruby, he was always afraid that his father would come home, and worried what John would say when he got there. Luckily, the septas were never around at the exact moment their lord returned, so they were not forced to deal with the worst of his wrath. Only Sam was. Unluckily. For nearly six years.

Once, John Winchester hurled a battle-axe at the wall just above Sam’s head when the boy refused to go into the family business—to journey with his father on trips to hunt down the Others. Sam had directly refused, and his father demanded a reason. Sam declined to give one. John had exploded.

“How DARE you refuse my orders without reason, Samiel! I am your lord and father, and you must obey me!!!” 

Sam’s hazel eyes had hardened and he snapped back, “Oh, really? And why would I do that, Dad?! You’ve barely SPOKEN to me since I turned thirteen! You only ask me how I’m doing because it’s perfunctory, not because you really care! And I don’t want to go out and destroy an Other that hasn’t done anything to cause me harm!” 

As Sam spoke thus, his father’s face went dark and his voice dropped dangerously. “Done you no harm? One murdered your MOTHER—burned her alive!!”

“Yes, and that was awful, Dad. But she destroyed it. She stopped it to save me. You re-killing every single one of those things you find doesn’t do anything to help her. It won’t bring her back.” That was when the weapon was hurled at Sam, and the boy shook his head in impotent frustration and fury. “Is this what she’d want for you and for us, Dad? To hunt and hate for the rest of our lives?! Dean’s told me stories about what kind of person she was, and from the things he’s said, I kind of doubt it.” After that blowup, Sam stayed far away from his father. Not that doing so was any more difficult than usual; it was simply time-consuming and taxing on his nerves and emotions in ways he didn’t need.

Sam is lost in memories when he hears a voice exclaim, “I have said before that ‘All dwarfs may be bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs.’ And from the look on your face, young Sam Winchester, I’d say you are thinking of a bastard right about now.” The young man whips his head about wildly, searching for the source of the voice—it sounds as though it is coming from the ground beneath his feet, or the intangible air around him.

“Who—who’s there?” he loudly whispers. The voice chuckles.

“I understand difficulties due to the mist and fog, but I’d thought you were precognizant of this world’s freakish ways.” It is now that some of the mist before him disperses, and Tyrion Lannister stands with hands in pockets, staring slyly at Sam. His arched brows are met with a bitch-face.

“I am not precognizant, my lord of Lannister. And I’m not a freak either.” Tyrion sighs and begins leading Sam up to the East Gate, nodding at its guards to let them in.

“I did not say you were. But people will say such things once they learn what you can do. And they WILL learn, because secrets in Westeros, like message ravens, have wings. To combat them, you must either depart before the rumors start to fly, or,” they are now progressing through the outer bailey, “‘Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.’” Sam stares down at Tyrion in awe for an instant, before the man takes notice of his expression and winks saucily. “As you can clearly see, it’s worked for me quite well.”

“I will never be able to defend myself against my father,” Sam says, so softly that he doubts the dwarf can hear him. Tyrion nearly stumbles, though; a hitch in his step forming as he thinks of his own father, by whom he will never be loved simply because of something about himself that he cannot help. He plants a friendly pat-punch on Sam’s leg. The young Winchester looks down at him in surprise.

“When we get to the library, I’ll tell you some tales about MY father, Freak.” Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. Tyrion worries for a split second that he may have misjudged the kid, but then the boy’s face splits into a giant smile and dimples appear on his cheeks.

“I’d be glad to hear them, Imp.” They reach the second set of guard-doors and enter the castle proper; en-route and excited to reach the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quotes Tyrion has 'between these marks' are from _A Game Of Thrones _pages 46 and 47. The Imp has some truly wonderful and remarkable advice for other characters. I admire him so very much.__

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to George R.R. Martin for his beautiful writing and in-depth characters.
> 
> Thanks to Supernatural for creating characters that I love to write about so much.
> 
> Thanks to my buddy Zach for answering my irate texts sent at all hours of the night because I get really into (and angry at) A Game Of Thrones.
> 
> And lastly, but most importantly, many thanks go to my boyfriend Chris for buying me this fabulous novel in the first place.


End file.
